


Jon/Robb ficlets

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Guilt, M/M, So much guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-04-25 00:24:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14366946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Do they have a ship name? Jobb? Ron? :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Got that prompt from a friend and it got very... dunno.

Those moments aren't frequent enough to really make him think about moving out. But they are frequent enough to mess with his head, to mess with his self-perception. He's not as good, as perfect as everyone seems to think. On the contrary. In these moments he's the worst of the worst, his thoughts unspeakable.  

He tries not to, tries to distract himself, lead his thoughts on a different path. But the instant he lays eyes on _him_ in those moments... All it takes is one glimpse, one fraction of a second, and all his efforts are for naught. 

How white _his_ skin seems in the dark, shimmering like moonlight, pale and luminous. The black of _his_ hair in stark contrast against his neck, against the faint red in _his_ cheeks, rosy from the steam. 

In these moments he wants nothing more than to put his hands on _his_ chest, white on white. Wants to pull _him_ close, feel _him_ along the length of his body, skin still hot and damp while his own is cool and dry. 

Full lips part invitingly, showing strong white teeth, the tip of a rosy tongue sweeping out to wet those lips. The smile is seldom, and all the more welcome. And it's only for him. He's the only one _he_ smiles at like this. 

He tries not to read anything into it, tries his hardest not to stop in his tracks, not to bend down and claim that smiling mouth. _He_ mustn't know. _He_ cannot ever know. The shame is his, and his alone. 

"I hope I left you enough hot water, Stark." 

The dark brown eyes are smiling too, the pupils blown as if... He cannot think about this particular thing, what could have caused _him_ to look like this. Almost... aroused. 

He flees, manages a weak laugh in answer to _his_ words, closes the bathroom door with shaking hands. Safety. He's painfully hard already, it's clearly visible through his pants. If _he_ ever saw, if _he_ knew... _he'd_ be disgusted. 

He strips quickly, craving relief from this terrible tension, from the shame running through his veins. The hot water doesn't do anything to dampen the arousal, to wash away the dirt. There's not enough water in the world for him to ever be clean again.

Not since the first time he saw _him_ like this, beads of water slowly making their way over _his_ smooth flat stomach, disappearing into the towel slung low around _his_ narrow waist. He always thought _he_ was skinny, and _he_ is, but there's a hardness to _him_ , muscles sharp and defined, that make _him_ look much different when naked. 

He leans his hot brow against the cool tiles of the shower cabin, hands in fists against the wall. He's not giving in, not this time. His thoughts are bad, his actions... it's the ultimate sin, to touch himself while thinking of _him_. He wants to kneel before _him_ , plead with _him_ , pray to _him_ , even. Not to his brother. To his god. 

 _He's_ nothing else than perfect. Every line of _his_ body, every feature of _his_ beautiful face, every look _he_ gives him... The moments are short, but their impact lasts. After he's done the unspeakable he cannot look at _him_ for days, cannot be alone with _him_ , hides from _him_. 

Hurts _him_. _He_ doesn't understand, what _he's_ done to deserve this kind of treatment. _His_ crime is simple, but nothing he could explain. Perfection. Existing. Breathing. Being his brother.

He groans as he loses the fight, as his hands unclench and fall to his sides, as he turns away from the wall. Now that the breach is made, the decision is done, it's with eagerness that he takes himself in hand. 

The pain fades while his mind screams. He cannot help it, help himself, cannot stop himself from imagining that it's his brother's hand on his straining cock, that it's _his_ fingers wrapped around the shaft, that it's _his_ thumb swiping over the head. 

It never takes long before the ache, the shame, becomes too much to bear, before he spills into his hand with tears streaming down his face and his brother's name in his mouth. 

Reverence. Sacrilege. Worship. Blasphemy.

 

_"Jon."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shower scene, the other side of the coin.

Jon feels cold, despite the hot water pelting down on him. He’s done it again, is hiding in here from his brother. And his thoughts. Jon wraps one arm tightly around himself, the other pressed against the tiles, holding him upright. He groans. 

_ Dirty. Bad. Foul.  _

It’s not Robb’s fault. Robb is innocent, Robb is good. Robb is his brother. Jon nearly doubles over as the pain sears white-hot through his body, he gasps, moans, hoping the rush of the water will cover any suspicious noises. 

Robb can’t hear him. 

Robb can’t know.

_ Robb mustn’t know. _

It gets worse. With every day, with every smile. The need gets worse. The guilt. The desperate attempt to keep himself together, the agonizing strain not to throw himself at Robb, and everything they have away. Sometimes Jon thinks it’d be worth it. 

Just one touch. 

Just one time. 

Just one kiss.

It is impossible. Robb is innocent. He is the sun, brightening all dark, lightening up Jon’s soul and body. One look out of the bluest eyes, one smile from his lovely mouth, a smile so readily given all the time, a smile undeserved. Robb doesn’t know. 

The images keep coming, so real Jon can almost feel Robb’s lips on his skin, can feel his hot touch, can feel his hands sliding down from his chest, over his stomach, down further, too far, not enough, not real, and Jon’s mouth opens in a silent cry as he takes himself in hand, because he can’t ever feel the hands he wants. 

How would they feel, those hands? Would they touch him gently, caressing? Would they grip him tight, would they be fast and merciless in their way up and down his length? Would he taste sweet? Mouth, skin,  _ everywhere _ .

Honey.

Sugar. 

Poison.

Jon balls his hand into a fist, pressing it against his mouth to trap the moans, he spreads his legs and winds his arms behind, it’s wet and slick and hot down there, but Jon shivers as he twists his hand and forces two fingers inside his body, in and out in a dull parody of how it could be, if it were how it can never be.

The tiles are cold against his chest, behind himself nothing but steam and a shadow, a mirage, a wishful illusion. Jon’s stomach is heaving, his cock is pulsing heavily between his legs, he comes with a last, unheard scream. 

Want. 

Need. 

Cannot.

The water washes it away, the evidence of his forbidden desire, the cold in his bones, the last soap from his body. It doesn’t wash away the shame that’s filling Jon’s whole being, the thoughts of Robb, Robb’s smile, Robb’s lips, Robb’s hands. 

Robb.

Robb. 

Robb. 

He comes towards him, smiling his beautiful, innocent smile, eyes the warmest blue imaginable. Jon smiles back, uneasily, an effort he fears he can’t make any longer without revealing himself and all that’s wrong in his mind and his heart. 

“I hope I left you enough hot water, Stark,” Jon says, voice light, thoughts heavy, head swimming and legs trembling. 

Robb laughs, so beautiful, so good, so perfect, so far away. 

Jon takes the final steps into his room, door falling shut, towel dropping to the floor. Jon crawls into bed, skin still damp and hot, but he shivers and shivers and can’t get warm until he gives in, gives in to the thoughts and images flooding his mind.

Robb.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, can't they just _talk_ to each other XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo here too :)
> 
> It somehow seems that all the Jobb (lol) ficlets are set in the same verse. Who'd have thunk it^^
> 
> I knooow this isn't really a v-day fic, but in the stage those boys are in, everything romantic would seem very much out of place.

“Aren’t you going out today?”

Robb stiffens as his brother’s voice floats in from the doorway. He feels caught, as if his disgraceful thoughts have summoned the one he should never think about the way he does, the way he did just now. 

He doesn’t turn around, although his whole body yearns for it, to look at him, take in his smile, the way he’s probably leaning against the frame like he sometimes does, arms crossed, the hint of a frown on his beautiful face. 

The image is vivid, yet still not strong enough to override the one seared onto Robb’s eyelids, the one he sees wherever he goes and whatever he does. A water droplet running down from a wet curl, down a smooth chest, catching on a tiny, pebbled nipple, brown and round and inviting. 

It’s been quiet for too long, Robb knows he should say something, anything, to satisfy Jon’s question, to make him go away again, leave him alone to continue. The fight against the visions, the fight against the arousal coursing through his body, the fight against himself. 

“Are you alright, Robb?”

Jon’s voice is worried now, another sin to add to Robb’s burden, another misdeed he needs to punish himself for. He closes his eyes, willing his mouth to firm the words he needs to say to make Jon leave.

“No plans,” he grits out between clenched teeth, “and yes, I’m fine.”

For a moment there’s no reply and Robb feels a surge of relief - until there’s a rustle, then the unthinkable, footsteps coming closer. Jon coming in. This is the last thing Robb needs, for him to see him like this, the flushed face, the tears of shame in his eyes, the hard, undeniable evidence of his disgrace. 

“I’d have thought you’d have a date tonight of all nights. V-day and all that” 

Jon’s voice is near now, right behind the chair, and Robb feels a trickle of cold sweat running down his neck. “Fuck this stupid day,” he snarls, clutching the armrests of his chair, willing Jon away with all his might. 

_ Go, please for the love of God, leave me alone! _

“Are you sure you’re alright? You seem…”

He’s even closer now, and Robb can smell him, a woodsy scent, musky and clean and pure torment, assaulting his senses and sending a rush of blood to his cock. He can feel it throbbing in his lap, heavy and damp and if Jon doesn’t go now he’ll notice and all will be over. 

“You look as if you’re running a fever. Let me--”

“NO!”

The shout rips itself from Robb’s chest the moment Jon’s cool fingers touch his neck, a dreadful jolt rockets through him and he moans his shame out loud as he comes in his pants with his brother’s touch on his skin. 

“Robb?”

The fingers are gone and Robb hunches over, holding himself together as good as he can, salvages what there is to salvage. He turns his head, looking at Jon through a haze, and grins weakly. 

“Just a stomachache. I’ll be fine.”

Jon nods, his perfect face a picture of confusion, his deep brown eyes wide and startled. He turns to go, and suddenly Robb can’t bear to see him leave.

“Snow,” he calls, watching Jon hesitate. “What about you? Do you have someone special to go out with tonight?”

Robb watches his brother’s eyes darken, watches a blush creep into his cheeks. The sudden surge of jealousy is forceful, unexpected, nearly knocking the air from Robb’s lungs. 

“No special someone, no.” Jon pauses, seemingly deep in thought. “No one I can ever dare to think of at least.”

Their eyes lock and Robb’s body goes numb, there’s something in those dark, earnest eyes that pulls at his insides, makes swallowing impossible. As if he’s pleading for something, something impossible. Something dangerous. 

The moment passes. Maybe it hasn’t been real. Maybe it has been entirely in Robb’s head. It has to be.

He is the sinner of the two of them after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Robb isn't careful he'll drown in his guilt one day.
> 
> Anyone want the same scene from Jon's POV? Or should the next one be further down the road?


End file.
